The Destiny Code: The Soldier and the Mystic

by Hollingsworth, Suzette

  Alita wondered if the twisting reptile enjoyed executing its graceful, artistic movement. Or if it hated captivity but felt compelled to perform.

  She glanced through the archway to the window where the Nile, free and powerful, flowed through Egypt on its journey to the Mediterranean Sea.

  “There is no understanding between you and Captain Ravensdale?” Marvella demanded, alarmed.

  Naturally. I understand Valerius, but he does not understand me. She had seen a glimpse of what her life could be, might have been. I comprehend so much more than before I came to Egypt.

  Alita bit her lip. “None whatsoever.”

  Valerius didn’t see it. He was living in that place of being invisible and unrealized.

  And she was invisible to him as well. Alita’s eyes, now watering, rested on the blue, lavender, and rose threads moving across the linen fabric like a meandering brook going nowhere.

  At times she thought it would have been better for her to have lived in ignorance. She was happier in that state.

  And then the handsome captain’s face appeared before her in her mind’s eye, his sarcastic smile, his powerful presence, his intelligent grasp of the world around him, his...

  Sighing, Alita picked up her needle again. She wished she could create some semblance of order out of this cross-stitch. Then there would be something in her life which was in place.

  “I didn’t realize Captain Lord Ravensdale was such a ninny,” Marvella frowned.

  “His is.”

  “I did think you two would suit.”

  “So did I,” Alita murmured. “Unfortunately it was a one-sided love affair.”

  I must overcome this sadness. It is purposeless and does nothing for me.

  “That would never do,” Marvella shook her head. “I confess, I disliked the idea of your traipsing about the world with a military man, anyway. But there is a strong attraction there, always a good way to start a marriage. And he might have been convinced to settle in one place, with the right incentive.”

  “There is little chance of that. Captain Ravensdale has an adventurous spirit and an insatiable curiosity.”

  “Most regrettable. I knew there was something I didn’t like about him.” The duchess sighed. “Fortunately there are other fish in the sea. We accomplished what we set out to do—to stall for time while your scandal is forgotten. More important than that, you have another serious suitor.”

  “Ouch!” Alita pressed her pricked finger to her lips.

  Suddenly something shifted. The room seemed to move, and Alita braced herself in her satin wingback chair, dropping her embroidery and holding onto both arm rests.

  An abrupt change in the patterns of the universe shook her like a strong wind moved a feather.

  She didn’t know where or how, but something was altered.

  Just when she thought despair would overtake her, peace washed over her instead.

  “Heavens to Betsy, child!” Marvella huffed, exasperated. “Why don’t you wear your thimble? It is clear that you cannot learn to keep the sharp part of the needle away from your hand and are determined to mutilate yourself.”

  Valerius will fulfill his destiny. Alita felt it clearly, strongly, as surely as she knew she loved him.

  Something had occurred or would happen, a new thought, a small action, which would lead to other actions, a word of kindness shown by another, a release in his soul or a healing.

  The venue didn’t matter. Alita knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Valerius would find himself. It would take time, and he might plod inefficiently and laboriously through it, but Valerius Huntington would discover who he was and make the impact in the world he was meant to make.

  “My handkerchief. Oh, where is my handkerchief!” Alita sobbed, bursting into tears of happiness. The relief made her chest heave.

  “FLORA! Bring the Hartshorne!” Marvella screamed as she moved to Alita’s chair and shook her. “A washcloth! NOW, girl!”

  With Flora’s near-immediate arrival, having been trained by the duchess, Marvella patted Alita’s face with a wet washcloth even as she continued to sob convulsively.

  Will Valerius and I be together? As joy overwhelmed her, Alita asked her subconscious this question she had asked a thousand times before.

  The answer was clear and resounding.

  No.

  The answer only managed to increase Alita’s sobbing. Her heart was breaking, and yet she was deliriously happy at the same time.

  Truly, I can ask for no more than this: his happiness. It was selfish to want for more when Valerius’ self-fulfillment had seemed an impossibility for so long.

  If his heart is happy, no matter how far away, mine is too.

  This would be the joy which would sustain her for the rest of her life.

  “Get the sherry, girl! What are you waiting for?” Marvella screamed to Flora even as the duchess waved the Hartshorne under Alita’s nose.

  “No, Grandmamma, Please.” Alita gasped, the fumes agitating her further.

  This trip to the middle-East had depleted her of everything she had.

  But it is not in vain. She had accomplished precisely what she came to do.

  “Breathe, Alita. Breathe at once, or I’ll shake you until you do.”

  I made a difference. A significant difference. Possibly for the first time in her life. I utilized my gift, and something good will come from it. And not just in one person’s life, but in all the lives Valerius would save.

  Alita was astonished to realize that she, an imperfect person so lacking in experience and knowledge, had succeeded. She was not one to care about personal accolades or to pursue conceit, but there was something transformative in feeling one’s effect.

  She was moving from an image in a painting to a real person. A ghost who had come alive.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Alita whispered, closing her eyes and saying a prayer of thanks to the universe, to God, the angels, and every event having anything to do with this shift. Alita clutched her heart in relief.

  “You’re welcome, child. Now drink this sherry immediately.”

  Cough. “Really, Grandmamma”—cough—“I only want hot tea.”

  “Flora! Get the tea. Hurry, girl!” Flora spun around, almost moving in circles, switching course with each new command.

  The tea arrived shortly, which no doubt would have been forcibly poured down Alita’s throat except for the fortunate occurrence that Alita stopped crying and began to talk. She thought it best before her grandmother poisoned and strangled her in earnest.

  “There, there, dear.” Marvella patted her hand as she spoke in quiet, consoling tones. “It will all be well. Many people suffer at least one heartache before they find their true love. I didn’t, but many people do.”

  “I have found my true love, Grandmamma,” Alita shook her head. “But he has not found his.”

  I do not know if there can be anyone else for me. Valerius would always be a presence with her, and it wouldn’t be right to enter into a marriage.

  “Pish tosh! Captain Ravensdale must be an idiot, or he would have chosen you, my dear. And an idiot cannot be your true love.” She cleared her throat. “Nor would you wish an idiot to be the father of your children.”

  “I assure you Valerius Huntington is not lacking in intelligence, Grandmamma.”

  “Education and intelligence are two different things. Even so, he can be no concern of mine if he is not marrying you, my sweet. All I say—because I have that caring, sensitive temperament which is my curse—is I pity the poor, confused children he shall inevitably produce. You, on the other hand, shall have everything you want and dream of. I promise you,” Marvella pronounced with determination. “So help me God.”

  Alita did not reply, but a new calm descended upon her as she pursed her lips.

  I am loved. That she knew. Her grandmother would go to the ends of the earth for her. She nodded, striving to avoid bursting into tears again.

  “Now, dear.” Marve
lla appeared to interpret Alita’s silence as grief. “I know it seems Ravensdale is the only man for you. But it is simply not true.”

  “Not the only man for me but undoubtedly the best man for me. He completes me.” I wish the reverse might be true.

  “And what of Lord Sherwood? He could make Adonis himself jealous.”

  “I like Lord Sherwood very much,” agreed Alita hesitantly, shaking her head. “And I know everything William will say before he opens his mouth.”

  “And how is this a bad thing?” Marvella demanded, raising her eyebrows. “It is ideal. Speaking as one with experience in these matters, to know one’s husband inside and out is to be able to wield him, to predict him and to acquire that which one desires. I defy anyone to produce a more perfect man than Lord Sherwood.”

  I don’t want a perfect man. I want Valerius Huntington.

  “You shall improve upon the journey home, my dear.” Marvella patted her hand. “A few days closer to God’s beloved England, and all will be well.”

  The duchess’ expression carried more conviction than Alita felt.

  41

  Seductress and Saint

  “Whiskey,” Val muttered, throwing his money on the counter and motioning to the bartender. The hour was late, and the swank bar was almost empty. His preferred drink was being poured even before the words left his mouth.

  “You look miserable, Raven.” Zaheer eyed him with obvious concern.

  “You are nothing if not a reader of people, Zaheer. How you picked up on that astounds me.” Val was worse than miserable. A month ago he had rarely been a customer of the bar at Shepheard’s except when he was with notables of state, and now he found himself in here frequently.

  And I know why. The surroundings reminded him of her. The familiarity both comforted him and tortured him.

  Val looked about him. Possibly it was time for another plan other than torture. He had sat in this bar for something approaching a week, and he didn’t feel a damn sight better.

  “What are you doing here again? Don’t you have somewhere to be? Do they pay you at your job to drink all day?”

  “It’s nice to see you, too, Zaheer,” Val muttered, replying in the bartender’s native tongue.

  “I like you, Raven,” Zaheer stated. “You know both Arabic and Coptic. I have never met an Englishman with a greater sympathy for the Egyptian people.”

  “Why don’t you have a drink with me, then, if you like me so well?” Val replied absently.

  “I don’t drink,” answered Zaheer, shrugging. “You are familiar with my religion, Raven.”

  “I would have to find another religion.”

  “Besides, the tongue becomes too loose when one drinks. I prefer to listen than to talk.” The short, wide man with the large grin made a welcoming gesture. “It is much safer.”

  “Ah, that explains it. I don’t require safety. Quite the contrary. I wish to put a period to a worthless existence.”

  “You have studied the Holy Quran, Raven.” Zaheer shook his head. “Surely you now know of your importance in the world.”

  “A far lovelier person than yourself tried in vain to convince me of my importance. I beg you to let that subject lie,” Val muttered under his breath, recalling a sweeter delivery of the same words.

  “Your English friends have left for England.” Zaheer stated the obvious.

  Val stared into his glass and said nothing.

  “Why do you stay if you miss them so much?” Zaheer asked.

  “Miss them?” Val laughed. “You must be mad, Zaheer. Let me explain the appeal of your country to me, Zaheer. Muslims believe in one God, in the Day of Judgment, in life after death, and in angels. Same sex relationships and killing one’s unborn child is forbidden. Saved souls will experience the bliss of heaven and unsaved souls the torture of hell. Last but not least, you subjugate your women under the pretense of cherishing them.” Val shrugged with indifference. “Just like being home.”

  “You state these truths as if they mean nothing, Raven.” Zaheer frowned.

  “They don’t mean a damn thing,” Val muttered. Heaven was a place he had never known, and he was on familiar terms with hell. He had never been so lonely in his life. He was, in general, a solitary person, but his solitude had been a peaceful haven and afforded him pleasure up until now. He had found refuge in his studies and in his intellect, and even that didn’t help him anymore.

  It was as if the sun had departed from his existence.

  Val pictured Alita before him, her hair the color of wheat and her crystalline green eyes, which took on hues of gold in the light and gazed upon one with a calm stillness. Val’s lips formed a smile.

  And she had looked at me as if I were a prince. No person had ever gazed upon him with such admiration. Most people wouldn’t give two quid for his existence.

  Steady, sir. Val’s heart tugged at him for an instant. It had been a pleasant fantasy, nothing more.

  And yet, when she had looked at him like that…

  Damn! She was the most irresistible woman he had ever met, and he had let her go. He was a bloody fool for wanting her and a bloody fool for letting her go as well.

  It was that simple.

  He was simply a bloody fool.

  “The Englishwoman was very beautiful,” Zaheer commented.

  “Very,” Val agreed, taking another swig of whiskey. “And almost as talkative as you are, my friend. An annoying habit.”

  “Tell me one thing, Raven.”

  “What?” Val growled.

  “Why did you let her go if it torments you to be without her? Enlighten me on this.”

  Val cursed under his breath. “She torments me whether I am with her or without her, so letting her go is irrelevant. The woman is insane, so why should I miss her? She is as crazy as a loon. I am a sensible, intelligent man, and yet I miss this woman who never put two logical words together in the time I knew her.”

  “Intelligent?” Zaheer laughed loudly. “You are about as intelligent as this dirty rag I am wiping the bar with, Raven.”

  “Precisely my point, Zaheer.” Val nodded in agreement. “She told me I am destined to help unify the world. That I have a great purpose. There is your proof she is insane. And I could not marry anyone who is insane. There might be children.”

  Children. Lord, he missed her. Even though he had never taken a single word seriously she had said, he loved the fact that she said it.

  Most of all, he missed how badly she had wanted him.

  He motioned for the next glass of whiskey but only toyed with it.

  “Do you have children, Zaheer?”

  “Of course. Do I not seem happy? Children make everything else seem like a waste of time.”

  “It wouldn’t have lasted.” Val swirled the whiskey in his glass. “Crazy or not, she would have left me just inside six months, and then where would I be? On the outside again.” There was something larger than life about her, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. She was small and delicate and…filled his whole world.

  Alita acted as if she were trying to save his life. Val shook his head. He still didn’t know her true purpose, but it had been pure bliss to play along.

  “The blond Englishman did not find her annoying. He treated her well.” Zaheer interjected into Val’s reverie. “You should try being polite, Raven. It might work better for you.”

  “So my rival spoke of her, did he?” Suddenly Val felt as if his eyes could bore a hole through the wood, even his forced amusement fading.

  “He drank a bit too much one evening, and his tongue became loose,” Zaheer’s white teeth were gleaming.

  “What did you overhear, Zaheer?” Val placed some coins on the countertop without hesitation.

  Zaheer shook his head, motioning to Val to keep his money. “For you, my information has no cost. Except possibly to your heart.”

  “All right then,” Val replied evenly, his fingers forming a fist. “How about you tell me what you h
eard, and I won’t bash your head in?”

  “Yes, the other Englishman loved her, too.” Zaheer frowned, stepping back. “But he was not afraid to follow his heart. Unlike you, he was not a coward.”

  Val slammed his fist on the counter. “Would you mind getting to the point?”

  “Her dreams did not worry him.” Zaheer shrugged. “She had a dream of a black panther, and the people of England thought she was crazy. As do you?”

  “Yes, yes, I know all about the dream. She told me that preposterous story herself, I—” Val stopped in midsentence. In a split second, Val jumped up, his stool falling backward, taking Zaheer by the throat, across the counter. Val placed his face very near to the Egyptian’s. “Do you mean to tell me Sherwood knew of that dream before they left England?” he demanded, his voice deadly.

  One of the footmen looked into the bar, and Zaheer waved him away. “It is not she who is mad, but you, Raven.”

  “Simply tell me the whole.” There were other people in the bar at that time, some of whom quickly departed.

  “Have I ever withheld anything from you, Raven?”

  Val released the bartender but did not sit down.

  “Yes, all the time.”

  “She had a dream about a black panther, she went to a party, the other Englishman was one of the party, he heard it there. But he was not overly concerned with the story. I believe even then that he loved her.” Zaheer stepped back, adding, “Personally, I hope he wins her. You don’t deserve her.”

  Val felt his head spinning, which prevented him from punching anyone. It was just as well.

  She did not make up the story when she arrived in Egypt upon seeing him. There had been a dream, and it had occurred in England.

  Moreover, since it was to Alita’s great disadvantage to recount the dream, it was thus very likely she believed the dream to be true. Could it also be she truly believed he was the black panther of her dream?

  Zaheer afforded him the general greeting reserved for Islamic men of the region, touching his fingers to his lips and kissing them, touching his heart, and then opening his fingers toward Val, murmuring in Arabic, “Peace be with you, friend. May Allah preserve your soul.” Then he turned to another customer only just entered the bar.